


Modus Operandi

by henriettahoney



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, College Student Adam Parrish, I don’t know what else to tag, Latin tutor Ronan Lynch, M/M, why am i so bad at tagging, why am i still tagging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-28 22:43:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21399835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henriettahoney/pseuds/henriettahoney
Summary: There’s probably a murderer on campus. Adam knows this. Tricking bone-tired students into drinking drugged coffee also seems like an extremely dependable method. However, he’s not going to make it through this without caffeine, and, he figures, even if he can’t afford to die, it won’t be his problem once he’s actually dead.Also, a very large part of him trusts this man for no discernible reason whatsoever.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 17
Kudos: 66





	Modus Operandi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clawsnbeak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clawsnbeak/gifts).

There have been three deaths on campus in the past three months, and not one of them has been ruled a suicide.

Adam Parrish, admittedly, is getting a little scared. The deaths don’t seem to fit any type of pattern thus far (there’s been a hispanic girl, nineteen, and two white boys, eighteen and twenty-one) but something about that makes it  _ worse  _ rather than  _ better _ . The sporadic nature gives the crimes the feel that they could be targeted at anyone. And, honestly? Adam can’t afford to die right now.

He’s headed to the library currently, because he has a tutoring appointment, and for the first time in his life he’s not the one doing the tutoring. He’s nervous, because he’s never met the guy, and, hello? What if he’s been going around  _ killing people _ ? He’s running late. He’s exhausted. This is not his day.

The first thing he notices, however, when he makes his way toward the back, left corner of the room (the agreed upon meeting spot), is a paper cup of coffee resting perfectly in the center of the long, oak table.

The second thing he notices is the man seated on the other side.

Everything about him is  _ dark _ . He’s wearing a coal blazer over a deep grey v-neck, black brows perched inquisitively above midnight eyes, and there’s a shadow of black hair just prominent enough to form the idea of a widow’s peak at the line of his forehead.

“Are you Parrish?”

Adam’s been staring. He realizes this and forces himself to blink. “Yeah. Sorry. I guess that makes you Lynch?”

“I guess it does,” the man responds, gesturing for Adam to take a seat. “I’m gonna be real honest, I’m not used to teaching anyone anything, so I’m probably shit at it. But I’m not shit at Latin, so hopefully you’re smart enough to follow along. Coffee’s for you, by the way. Thought you might need it.”

There’s probably a murderer on campus. Adam knows this. Tricking bone-tired students into drinking drugged coffee also seems like an extremely dependable method. However, he’s not going to make it through this without caffeine, and, he figures, even if he can’t afford to die, it won’t be his problem once he’s actually dead.

Also, a very large part of him trusts this man for no discernible reason whatsoever.

He slides the coffee across the table to him and takes a small, tentative sip. Black, which is perfect for when he can’t afford the creamer slowing him down. “Thanks,” he says. “You weren’t wrong.”

Lynch smirks and then pulls a book from the pitch messenger bag in the chair beside him, placing it on the table with a thud. “Okay, so what  _ do  _ you know?”

* * *

The session lasts two hours rather than the one it’s supposed to, and when Adam pulls out his wallet, ready to pay double, Lynch flat-out refuses to take it.

“Not your fault I nerded out about a dead language,” he justifies. “I don’t need your money. Just hold onto it for tomorrow. If we’re doing this again, anyway.”

“We are,” Adam answers quickly, and then, “I mean, if you’re cool with that. I, uh. It helped a lot. Whelk’s a brilliant professor, but it makes him pretty difficult to understand sometimes. Thank you. For today.”

“Not a problem,” Lynch assures him, hooking his bag over his shoulder and stuffing the book back inside. “Hey, be careful if you’re walking back to a residence hall or whatever. I know I’m probably just paranoid as fuck, but I feel like the whole school’s starting to get a little freaked out. Mass hysteria makes people crazy.”

“Thanks,” Adam chuckles, a touch breathy, because he may have just been considering how sincerely he was  _ not _ looking forward to the trek back to his room in the near dusk. Then, before he can lose his nerve, “Hey, uh. Where are you headed?”

“Mignon,” Lynch says, pausing, half-turned toward the doorway. There’s a swarm of students heading inside, probably a study group just meeting after a late lecture, and several of them very nearly bump into him. “Why?”

“I’m in Butler,” Adam tells him, trying with an incredible amount of fervor to remind himself that he  _ does not know this man _ . “Same direction. We could walk together if you want. That way neither of us is alone.”

“I’m meeting a friend,” Lynch informs him, and then, before he can begin backtracking, adds, “but you can come with us. We’re passing by there anyway.”

Adam nods his head—one awkward, jerking motion, and that’s that.

The friend Lynch is meeting, Adam learns just outside the library, is much less dark than he is, sporting shaggy, blonde hair, and a heather and blue argyle sweater. “Hey!” he greets, sticking out his hand to shake Adam’s without so much as a notion of hesitance. “I’m Noah. You’re the tutoree, I guess? The Latin one?”

“That’s not a word,” Lynch butts in, knocking his shoulder against Noah’s. “But, yeah. He is. We’re walking him back to his res hall.”

“Oh, ‘cause of the killings?” Noah says, like it’s nothing, and also like it’s been confirmed. “Good call, good call. What’s your name, boy who’s bad at Latin?”

“Parrish,” Lynch interjects again. “Quit with the twenty-one questions, man.”

“Adam,” Adam corrects. “My first name is Adam.”

Lynch seems to slow somehow without actually breaking stride, and then tests out the name for himself. “Adam. Huh.”

“What?” Adam asks, amused, as they quickly cross the sidewalk before them, not bothering to check for oncoming traffic. This is a college campus. Either people have enough sense to stop or the person being hit needs the insurance money. “Do I not look like an Adam to you?”

“No.” Lynch doesn’t turn to face him. “Adam suits you fine.”

* * *

Back in his room, Adam is cold. He’s got a candle lit on his desk because blowing it out and stumbling straight into bed is easier than crossing the extent of the floor to hit the light switch, and the world religions text before him is already beginning to blur. 

He can’t remember the last time he had a decent night’s sleep. He hasn’t had the hours to spare, between work and studying for exams and teaching low-level math to freshmen for extra cash. It’s catching up to him quickly, and it’s all he can do to keep his head from dropping to his desk. 

At least he doesn’t have a roommate. No one to judge him for driving himself into the ground. 

When he reads over the same sentence for the seventh time, he blows a soft, annoyed breath out his nose and figures now is as good a time as any to give up. He isn’t going to get anything done. Not like this. 

There’s rain beginning to patter quietly against the pane of his window, almost as though the universe is attempting to lull him to sleep. 

Before it can, however, his phone buzzes against his thigh, a stark, startling jolt back to reality. 

When he checks the screen, the contact name glaring back at him is  **Lynch (Latin Tutor)** . 

“Hello?”

“About tomorrow’s session,” Lynch begins. Something instantly sounds  _ off  _ to Adam’s ear. Lynch’s voice is a hair to the left. A pinprick below its usual tenor. So close to normal that the force of it is obvious enough to send a chill down Adam’s spine. “Afraid I’m gonna have to cancel. Noah’s dead.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Michelle, my love, as a birthday present. I hope I’ve done the dark academia theme justice! More to come. ♥️
> 
> Also, Mignon and Butler are residence halls at the university in my town. Not sure if I’ll ever specify what this school is called. We shall see.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
